HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

After a long while, just when Ian thought he had fallen asleep, Severus suddenly spoke again, his voice soft, with a post-coital hoarseness and a hint of barely perceptible tension.

"Lucius's trial, next week."

Ian paused, his hand stroking the man's hair. "Hmm, what do you think he'll do?"

"I don't know. He 'contributed' quite a few names and 'proved' that he was controlled by the Imperius Curse. The Nott and Crabbe families pushed more things onto him, but the evidence is vague."

Severus's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "The Ministry of Magic needs 'results,' and it also needs... to maintain a certain balance. He might spend a few years in Azkaban, or he might just face a huge fine and close surveillance."

Do you think he'll behave?

Severus was silent for a moment. "He won't accept it, but without Voldemort, many things are different. Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr. are still on the run, like headless worms, but the venom is still there."

"Do you think they'll retaliate? Or... wait for their 'master' to return?" Ian asked directly.

Severus tensed for a moment. "Dumbledore said he 'disappeared,' but he didn't die."

He lowered his voice even further, "That kind of power... it doesn't kill easily, it's a Horcrux..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Ian understood.

The locket is still with Dumbledore, the golden cup is in Gringotts, and there may be others.

As long as those things remain, Voldemort is not truly finished.

This tranquility is the eye of the storm, fleeting and fragile.

"So we need this position," Ian hugged him tighter, his voice firm, "to gather information and regain our strength at Hogwarts, right under Dumbledore's nose. If he really does... come back, we can't be passive like last time."

Severus grunted in response, his fingers unconsciously curling up to clutch the fabric of Ian's shirt.

"Lily sent another item via owl today, a very obscure translation of an ancient magical manuscript about soul trauma and magical stability. She said she found it by chance in the Potter family's library."

"She's worried about you," Ian said.

“I know.” Severus paused. “She was also worried about the future. She didn’t say it explicitly, but she mentioned ‘anxiety’ in the letter.”

“Many people are uneasy,” Ian sighed. “The Ministry of Magic is celebrating its victory, but the security level at the Auror’s Office hasn’t dropped. Professor Slughorn has gone even further into hiding since his retirement. Even in Knockturn Alley, Mr. Borgin says there have been some ‘old items’ quietly returning recently, and prices have been driven up very high.”

"Dark magic items?"

"Yes. Some things that were lost during the war, or thought to have been destroyed." Ian's voice also turned somber. "Someone is collecting them, very discreetly, but Mr. Borgin can smell it."

The two fell silent again.

The fire crackled, and the warmth remained, but there seemed to be an invisible, cold thread in the air, entwined beneath the tranquil surface.

"Ian," Severus suddenly called his name.

"Um?"

"If...if he really comes back..." Severus's voice was very soft, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor.

"We'll be together," Ian interrupted him. "We'll face this together. This time, we have experience, we have our place, we have each other. And..."

He paused. "The protective runes on Regulus's cufflinks last time were very old, not the kind that's commonly available on the market. What is he preparing? Or does he know what we need to prepare?"

Severus looked up, his dark eyes meeting his in the dim light. "You think the Black family..."

“Regulus is Regulus,” Ian said. “He has his own path, but at least on some things, we can be allies.”

He lowered his head and kissed Severus's eyelids. "Don't overthink it. Tonight, it's just the two of us, and this pot of food that might be overcooked. Tomorrow, you have two third-year classes. I need to go to Hogsmeade to see if there's any shop space available. We have to take it one day at a time, Severus."

Severus stared at him for a long time, the worry and tension in his eyes finally settling slowly in that gentle gray.

He leaned his head back on Ian's shoulder and gave a soft "hmm".

"The vegetables," he reminded him again.

Ian chuckled, finally got up, settled him in, and headed to the kitchen.

"Yes, Professor, it's coming right up to you. But let me make it clear first, don't deduct Hufflepuff's points if it burns."

"...Points will be deducted from your score."

"I'm not your student."

"You're the homeowner, so you're under my jurisdiction."

"When were these rules set?"

"Just now."

Whispers and soft laughter mingled with the aroma of food wafting out.

……

Life is like the water of a black lake, flowing calmly forward.

Severus quickly found a kind of almost rigid rhythm at Hogwarts.

The chill of the cellar complemented him perfectly, and the potions classroom was strictly ordered, with the steam rising from the cauldron being the only permitted "chaos."

He showed no mercy to his students; mistakes resulted in deductions, carelessness in solitary confinement, and exploding crucibles were accompanied by cleaning or writing papers that would make one's hands cramp.

The young wizards called him "the stern bat professor" behind his back. But gradually, even the most carefree Gryffindors admitted that as long as you strictly followed his steps and didn't try to be clever, you could indeed brew a textbook-perfect potion. Moreover, he wouldn't show favoritism or belittle you because of who your parents were or which house you were in.

The fair and strict approach, compared to Slughorn's flamboyant favoritism, instilled a sense of awe, even a distorted admiration, in some students who genuinely wanted to learn something.

Ian rented a small shop at the entrance of Hogsmeade Village. It used to sell dried herbs. The location was remote, but there was a small shed in the backyard, which was just the right place for him to grow herbs.

He nominally runs a business selling "herbs and potions," and also sells some protective trinkets.

The slow business suited him just fine.

Most of the time, he frequented the edge of the restricted section of Hogwarts' library, or when Severus wasn't in class, he would sneak into the private storage room in the cellar, which they had secretly converted into a more comfortable study and relaxation corner.

News from the outside world came in through newspapers, occasional visitors, and guardian spirits, piecing together a picture of the "post-war" era.

The trial of Lucius Malfoy occupied the front page of newspapers for an entire week.

The process was intense, the evidence was complex, his former colleagues accused each other, and he himself spoke palely and restrainedly about being "forced," "cursed," and "deceived by his family." Narcissa Malfoy sat in the audience, her back straight, her blond hair neatly styled, and her grey-blue eyes like frozen lakes.

The final verdict was: a huge fine, special surveillance by the Ministry of Magic, and a three-year suspended sentence, during which time the person is prohibited from holding any public office and from entering the core areas of the Ministry of Magic.

He was released in court.

As he left Wizengamo, he was surrounded by reporters. He only said, "Thank you for the justice of the law. I will focus on my family and making amends," before leaving with Floo Powder.

After that, Malfoy Estate closed its doors to the public and almost disappeared from public view.